


Outside

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 15:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11382771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Commander Lindir enjoyed first contact with the Eldar.





	Outside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lindirisms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindirisms/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for lindeaewen’s “Alien/space for Elrond/Lindir” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/161379570810/au-prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The station simulates Earth’s hours, and this time of night, the lights are low, and most have retired to their quarters, only a skeleton crew left at their posts. As the commander, Lindir has plenty to do during the day, and he could probably use his sleep. But he has too much on his mind, and sometimes, only the stars can clear it. The best view on the ship is in the messhall. So he’s claimed his usual table, located in the far corner, right beneath a towering viewport that shows off the vastness of space all around them. If he moved to the other side of the station, he could look down on Earth instead. But he came here to get _away_ from that overcrowded mess, and there’s something more comforting about this. Especially now that he knows _what’s out there_.

“Good evening,” someone says, startling Lindir from his reverie. He instantly recognizes the voice—his own crew is small, and he speaks every one of their languages, knows all their heavy accents when they match his. This newcomer speaks nearly perfect English, but the slight accent is like no other Lindir’s ever heard. When the man speaks in his own tongue, he seems to _sing_.

And he’s all Lindir’s been able to think about, ever since their first contact only four days ago. The report’s been made, both Earth and the moon colony contacted, and now it’s just the waiting game. Lindir’s sat here fearing for it—Earth is still largely divided and has never been good at handling _different_ things. But meeting extraterrestrials had to happen at some point, especially with their station monitoring the Mars missions and broadcasting the usual beacons. Lindir’s still surprised it happened in his lifetime.

But he’s infinitely glad it did. He dons a soft smile and dips his head in greeting, the way the aliens do. Then he gestures to the single metal chair across from him, bidding, “Lord Elrond. Would you like to join me?” Normally, he would never be so bold. But he’s in charge of hospitality to these new people, and Elrond is the sort of person that slips through all Lindir’s barriers, the sort that Lindir _wants_ to sit with.

The ‘lord’ is unnecessary, Elrond’s told him, but Lindir still leans towards propriety, even when first contact’s already gone so well. Elrond smiles as a human wood, genuine and warm, as though he’d like nothing better than to share this time with Lindir. Dressed in long silken robes, he sinks gracefully into the offered seat, and long fingers brush a curtain of dark hair back behind his shoulders. It falls far and straight, glimmering in the starlight, drawn back and swept around two pointed ears, not all that different than a human’s save the slender tip. Elrond’s skin is as peach as Lindir’s, though others in his company are dark as the night, darker even than humans go, with eyes clear and wise that seem to perceive far more than a human’s could. Beyond that, Elrond is _beautiful_ , handsome beyond any Lindir’s ever met, and though Lindir has few people actually _close_ to him, he’s seen hosts of colonists come and go. Elrond bests them all. He claims to be several hundred years old, and yet he’s the sort of older man that Lindir would’ve lusted after, were he back on Earth striving through the program instead of stuck up here, fit in a strict job with no room for anything unprofessional.

Elrond eyes Lindir for a moment, something that makes Lindir have to fight a blush, and announces, “It is a beautiful sight.” He must mean the viewport, but his gaze remains on Lindir. Then he leans across the table, clasping his strong hands in the middle, and asks, “Have you received formal word yet?”

“No,” Lindir answers, with a slight shake of his head. His own hair is similarly long, though that’s far less common among his people, but he has it gathered high up on his head, slickly pinned in a tight bun. He’s thought of letting it flow free for Elrond, but then he always reminds himself that he has his dutiful image to uphold. He lowers his eyes from the intensity of Elrond’s and promises, “When I do, you will be the first to know.”

“The prospect of what it will say troubles you,” Elrond deduces, all on his own. Lindir almost gives a little laugh—he feels so transparent around Elrond, though Lindir’s own doctors have confirmed, after a passive scan the ‘Eldar’ consented to, that they bear no telepathy.

Lindir finds it difficult to explain, but he tries. “Your people are... well, they’re wondrous, Lord Elrond. I won’t pretend I’m not impressed with just about everything about you, and I don’t solely mean the technology of your ship. In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve grown sure that your intentions are truly peaceful. You’re a kind, wise, and patient people, but humans... I’m afraid I can’t always say the same of us.”

“You are a young race,” Elrond tells him, before reaching out a hand and overturning it, splaying it on the table for Lindir to take. Lindir’s breath hitches, and he fights with himself before daring to place his palm against Elrond’s. The warmth of Elrond’s smooth skin sends a shiver through him, and Elrond gives him a little squeeze, like sending a wave of reassurance right into his body. Elrond murmurs, “But you have accomplished many good things, and you will grow, in time, to flourish amongst the stars.”

Lindir hopes so. When he looks at this strange creature, an _alien_ that still feels so _right_ with him, all he wants is to be good enough for Elrond. He’s never been particularly into travel, beyond the simple wish to _get away_ and find somewhere he truly feels he _belongs_ , but Elrond makes him long to see the white clouds and blue shores of Imladris. If Earth does open talks with the Eldar and wishes to send representatives back to their homeworld, Lindir knows he’ll be first in line to apply. 

Unless, of course, Elrond chooses to stay here, or on Earth. Then Lindir will follow, because he knows _this_ is what called him to space, even if he never knew it at the time. 

Elrond finally releases his hand, drawing back but not leaving, which Lindir’s grateful for. He thinks of inviting Elrond back to his quarters—he could lie and say the view’s better there. But of course, that would be wholly inappropriate. He’s already given Elrond a tour, but he offers again, “Would you walk with me?”

“I would love to,” Elrond answers, before rising from his seat and holding out a hand.

Lindir takes it to rise, and this time, he doesn’t let go.


End file.
